Buried Secrets: The Freeman Files Series: Book 11 by Ted Tayler (that summer book TXT) 📕

Campbell-Drakes could be as poor as church mice,” said Gus. “Farmers always complain that the weather is too dry, or it’s too wet, and they haven’t got enough Eastern European labourers to guarantee the harvest will get finished on time. Unless you suddenly think she killed Alan Duncan, we’ll keep our distance for now. I’ll check with Vera Butler at London Road. Her family has connections among the landed gentry. They’re bound to know how high up the ladder the family has climbed. If I read the murder file correctly, the lady didn’t even bother entering the field to see if Alan Duncan was still breathing. She made a quick phone call to the local constabulary as she trotted along the lane and went about her business.”

It was twenty minutes past four. Gus thought he should be on his way. One thing to do before he left the office.

“Gus?” said Suzie, “is this a message to say you’re going to be late?”

“I’m collecting Kassie Trotter from work at five o’clock and running her home to Worton. She’s been itching to give me the inside track on Rhys Evans for days. At least, I think the gossip concerns him. What she’s learned, and why I need to hear it, I’m not sure yet, but Kassie needs someone to make her feel valued. That Geraldine Packenham has dented the poor girl’s confidence.”

“You fooled people for years into believing you were thick-skinned and unemotional, Gus Freeman. Deep down, you’re a pussy-cat, aren’t you? Will you be long?”

“I don’t plan to,” said Gus. “Kassie will feed me a rock cake before we leave the car park, and I’ll listen to her gossip while I try to eat it. Kassie will be out of the car like a shot once I pull up outside the old pub in Worton. She doesn’t want the locals to get the wrong idea.”

“You’ve done this trip before then?” asked Suzie.

“When Kassie was deeply involved in ‘Game of Thrones’, yes,” said Gus. “She told me everything I needed to know about Monty Jennings.”

“Say no more,” said Suzie. “That meeting was a couple of days before we went for a Sunday afternoon stroll on the hillside and you wooed me with your home-made soup.”

“I did not know where that would lead,” said Gus. “I have no regrets.”

“I’ll expect you around six o’clock then,” said Suzie.

“Kassie promised me any baked goods that weren’t snaffled by the senior staff today. I might have a doggy bag with me.”

“Too many cakes will punish my waistline,” said Suzie. “Look at what it’s done to Geoff Mercer. I’ll stick to the salad that I promised myself. You can self-cater.”

“I have to dash,” said Gus, “see you later.”

Gus said goodbye to the team and left the building. As he turned into the visitor’s car park at London Road, he passed Vera Butler walking home. They exchanged a friendly wave, as had become their custom. Kassie Trotter waited at the foot of the steps outside the main building with a large bag over her shoulder.

“Only two minutes late, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie as she flopped her sizeable form in the passenger seat. “You’re improving.”

“Belt up, Kassie,” said Gus.

“You’re a laugh a minute,” said Kassie, “unlike Miss Sourpuss there.”

Gus looked up to see DI Geraldine Packenham staring at them. With a look of disgust, the new broom turned on her heel and headed for the Hub building.

“Is Ms Packenham knocking the Hub whizz kids into shape this week, Kassie?” asked Gus.

“I agree with Vera, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie. “As long as she’s not bothering us, I don’t care what she’s doing. Shall I give you one now, Mr Freeman?”

“That’s why I agreed to pick you up. Devizes to Worton, price—one rock cake.”

“Did you throw my bara brith away, Mr Freeman? You can be honest. It wasn’t my finest hour.”

“I did remember to eat the large slice you gave me, Kassie. Perhaps, it was past its best when I got round to it. Don’t despair. Practice makes perfect.”

Kassie delved into her large bag and removed one rock cake. She handed it to Gus as they stopped for a red light.

“I don’t get many complaints about my cakes, Mr Freeman,” she said. “Mr Mercer always takes two.”

“Well he would, wouldn’t he,” said Gus, taking a bite.

Kassie was right. It was scrumptious. The lights turned green, and they were on their way to Worton.

“Hot gossip, Kassie,” said Gus, brushing a wayward crumb from his lips. “That was the other part of the deal.”

“Rhys Evans started work at London Road today, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie. “He’s in Peter Morgan’s old office. I asked him which he preferred this morning when I did the coffee and tea run. He doesn’t do hot drinks, Mr Freeman. My cakes are off the menu too. Mr Evans told me that his body is a temple. He drinks bottled water and practices yoga.”

“The rumour mill was certain that Rhys was a Welshman who played rugby,” said Gus. “I thought they played hard, drank hard, and existed on raw meat. Times have changed. Where does that leave you now, Kassie?”

“You were busy last week,” said Kassie. “So, you didn’t have time to chat with Vera and me. Do you even remember where he’s living?”

“Monty Jennings found him a property,” said Gus. “I remember now. It’s just up the road from you.”

“One hundred yards away, Mr Freeman. When Vera told me the news, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Thirty-two years old, single, and a rugby player. He sounded perfect. Monty handed Mr Evans the keys ten days ago. Our new police surgeon had holiday owing, so he drove backwards and forwards in his car, transferring clothes and smaller items from his place in Bridgend. I persuaded Vera to drive over to Worton on Saturday